


Red Rose

by CatInTheIvy



Series: Rejects [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Crossdressing, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Friendship, Gay, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Romance, Teenage Drama, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatInTheIvy/pseuds/CatInTheIvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up in a Christian family, Grell was never allowed to be who he truly was. He was always different, never right, never good enough for his family. His church frowned on how he acted when he was little, saying "boys don't act like girls". His family was disgusted with him.</p><p>What will happen when he attends Brooks High and meets a silver haired boy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters, only Yana Toboso does. I own my OC's only.

"Mama, could I get a new toy for Christmas?" A little red haired boy pleaded to his mother. She looked down at him, their hands attached as they wove their way through the busy mall.

  
"I suppose so. Let's go look at the toys, and you can show me the toy that you want." She ruffled the little boy's head as he giggled with happiness. As the little red head all but dragged his mother through the toy aisles, she found it strange that he passed by all the boy toys and went straight to the girl toys.

  
'Maybe he's lost', she thought to herself. But then he showed her the toy he wanted: Pretty Princess. He looked at her with large, hopeful eyes, the unique shade he had inherited from his father lighting up. "This one!" He said it with glee.

  
She glanced at him. "You can't get that, it's for girls." A small scowl fashioned itself on his chubby face.

  
"But I want it," he tried to tell her.

  
"No Grell," she crouched down and looked him in the eye. "You are a boy, and boys play with toys made for boys. Not with toys made for girls, okay?" The little boy looked at the ground in despair and nodded.

  
"Good. Now, let's go home, Dada is waiting for us."

The boy took one last glance at the toy until he was dragged away by his mother.

*12 years later*

His first day at his new high school came too quickly. His alarm woke him as usual, and he got out of bed, as usual. He quickly brushed his teeth, and tried to tame his unruly, ruby red hair with a brush.

  
When he opened his closet, he saw nothing he wanted to wear, just things he was supposed to wear. He blindly reached into his closet and pulled out black jeans and a dark blue shirt. He grabbed a pair of socks and underwear and put them on mechanically. The shirt and pants came next. He looked into the mirror and saw who looked back at him. Long red hair, slightly effeminate facial features, his once bright green-yellows eyes were dull and hard. Convinced that who looked back at him wasn't actually who he was, he sighed, grabbed his bag and went downstairs for breakfast.

  
As usual, his father didn't look up when he walked down the stairs. His older sister cooked breakfast. His mother lay on the couch, under a blanket. She had been feeling sick the past few days, and it affected his whole family, all of them become more distant than usual. He grabbed the plate of toast and eggs his sister made for him, muttered a quick thanks, and sat down at the table. He ate alone, and within five minutes he had cleaned off his plate, and he put it in the sink.

  
He slipped his shoes and coat on, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left his house without so much as saying "Goodbye". He began his walk to his bus stop, the cool February air brushing past him. After about ten minutes, he made it to the stop, and only had to wait a few more minutes until his school bus came. He climbed on, and proceeded to try and find a seat, most seats either full, or being denied to him.

  
"You can sit here," a voice spoke up as the bus began to move. "Hey, Red." Grell looked up to see a silver haired boy motion him over. Grell slowly made his way over to the seat and the person already sitting there. When he sat, the silver head looked at him. Grell could see that he had many piercings in his ears, about six per ear he reasoned.

  
"I'm Darien," he stuck his hand out to Grell. "What's your name?"

  
The red headed swallowed hard. "G-grell," he stammered as he shook Darien's hand. Darien nodded and leaned back in the seat. "Cool name."

  
Grell smiled slightly. He glanced out the window as the bus continued on, observing the houses as they blurred together.

* * *

 

  
When Grell got off the bus, he could feel all eyes on him. He was dressed so plainly, clothes that didn't belong to brands, unlike the other students. As he passed groups of them, he could hear them talk in hushed tones, about his hair, his clothes, and who he was. He ducked his head to avoid eye contact with anyone.

  
He was used to the looks and whispers. Every school he went to when he was younger acted the same. Even the teachers acted the same as the students.

  
He didn't look where he was going though, and ran straight into someone, knocking them both over. Grell jumped up and tried to help the person he knocked over, but they pushed him away.

  
"Don't touch me you creep," the teen said standing up and brushing himself off. His black hair ruffled slightly, his red eyes narrowed. "Watch where you go, asshole." He picked up his books, and pushed by Grell, knocking the red head over again.

  
Grell sat in the dirt, collecting his books quietly and quickly. He was used to this behaviour, but he just wished that it didn't happen to him on his first day at this school. An outstretched hand entered his vision, rings adorned every finger, nails painted black.

  
Grell looked up to see Darien. "Come on," Darien motioned up with his hand slightly. "Let's clean you up." Grell blinked, and took the hand up.

  
Darien helped brush Grell off, and others stared in disbelief at his actions, like how could anyone want to help the freak? The bell rang and the students rushed inside, but Darien still helped Grell. "Come on Grell, I'll walk you to class." Darien and Grell began to walk to the doors.

  
"Where's your first class?" The silver head asked the red.  
  


"F-fashion," Grell muttered, waiting for the laughing, the scorn, the hate, but it never came. He glanced at Darien, who had a small smile on his face.

  
"That's my class too," he chuckled slightly. "Let's get to class."  
  


* * *

  
"Good morning class," a woman dressed impeccably in red greeted her students. "My name is Ms. Red, but please, called me Madame Red. It is much more classy, and fashion is all about class."

  
Grell and Darien were sitting at a two seater desk, and they were the only boys in the class of 20 students. Madame Red, observed her class, and saw the two boys. She smiled slightly, but said nothing.

  
"Okay, let's do attendance," and she proceeded to call out names. Darien and Grell each put their hands up when their prospective names were called, but one girl coughed "Undertaker" when Darien's name was called. Her cronies giggled with her, and Darien just sighed.

  
"Why did she call you that?" Grell asked Darien timidly.

  
"Undertaker," Darien looked at Grell, "is a nickname given to me because of how I dress, and because my father is a mortician. Hence, Undertaker." He did little jazz hands. Grell nodded in understanding.

  
"But doesn't it get..." He started to ask.

  
"What?" Darien looked at him.

  
"...annoying?" Grell finished. Darien shrugged.

  
"I'm used to it, it really doesn't bug me."

  
The boys stopped talking as the teacher came around and passed out their course booklets.  
  


* * *

The bell rang to signal the class change. Darien and Grell left the class together, and made plans to eat together at lunch. They swapped numbers and went their separate ways. Darien had to go downstairs to first floor to his Biology class, but Grell stayed on second to go to English.

  
As he walked though, he saw the black haired boy from before, except he was with a short blue haired kid, another black haired teen with golden eyes, and a shorter blonde boy in booty shorts. Grell tried to veer away so they wouldn't see him, but he was too slow.

  
"Hey! Red haired fag!" The teen from this morning yelled to him. He motioned for him to come over, an angry look on his face. People glanced quickly at the commotion, but did nothing. "Get over here!"

  
Grell cautiously made his way over. "I really am sorry about this morning."

  
The blue haired teen looked at who Grell was talking to. "Sebastian, what's he talking about?"

  
Sebastian sneered. "He ran me down and didn't even bother to help. Isn't that rude, Ciel?" Grell knew that was a lie, but stayed quiet. Ciel's eyes skimmed thoughtfully over Grell.

  
"He's so thin, I hardly doubt that he could actually take you down," Ciel  glared at Sebastian. "Let the poor kid get to class."

  
Sebastian snorted in disdain, and pushed Grell away, causing him to stumble into a student. Said student turned around, neat brown hair and glasses moved to look down at Grell. He pushed his glasses back up with the pencil in his hand.

  
"Is there a problem Sebastian?" Glasses asked, his voice laced with a cold boredom. Sebastian scowled at him.

  
"Shove off Spears. Even if there was a problem, what would you do?" He smirked.

  
Spears pushed his glasses back up again, and spoke in a cool tone. "Considering that what you are doing is seen as harassment, and a form of bullying, and neither are tolerated at this school," he turned and looked straight at the troublemaker, "I believe there is a problem, and I would be more than happy to take it up with the principal."

  
Sebastian growled, but stalked away, the three teens followed him. Grell looked at Spears.

  
"U-um, thanks." Grell muttered. Spears looked at him, and his hard expression softened slightly.

  
"What's your name?" Spears asked the red haired boy.

  
"Grell," he replied. "What's yours?"

  
"I am William T. Spears," he said very formally. "If people treat you like that, you really should speak up and against them."

  
Grell nodded slightly. He knew that he should, but it was easier if he didn't. William looked at his watch. "Oh dear, I really should get to English."

  
Grell perked up. "You wouldn't happen to have it with..." He trailed off as he dug his timetable out his bag and reviewed it. "Mr. Aberline?" He finished.

  
"As a matter of fact, I do. I suppose we should go to class then," William answered. Grell nodded and the two walked to class.

  
As they were walking however, Grell realized that William was dressed in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, black dress shoes, and a black tie. He didn't even carry a bag, but rather a brown leather briefcase. Grell realized that compared to him, he was sorely under-dressed.

  
He said nothing about it, and neither did William, but Grell could feel eyes burning into his back.  
  


* * *

When the two teens reached their class, William decided to question Grell about his clothing.

  
"Pardon me for asking, but why are you dressed so plainly?"

  
Grell flushed in embarrassment. "We...we can't really afford nice clothes," he muttered quietly. "These are from consignment stores, and we shop at Goodwill when they have Buck a Pound." He looked down at his hands. An awkward silence enveloped the two.

  
"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be rude." William apologized. "I guess I always thought that people who came to Brooks High came because they have money..." He trailed off.

  
Grell shrugged. "I came for the writing, Brooks has the best in the city."

  
William felt ashamed. He awkwardly patted Grell on the back. Grell flinched slightly at the contact, not used to a fellow student showing kindness, or compassion. The two students talked until the teacher came crashing into the room, tripping into his desk. The rest of the class continued to talk.

  
"Is no one going to help him?" Grell looked at William. "He did just fall into a metal desk."

  
William jotted something in a small notebook and closed it. "It's just how Mr. Abberline is," William tucked the pen and notebook in his shirt pocket. "He's always been a bit clumsy, and the students don't worry about it. He's fallen down two flights of stairs before, and the only injury he sustained was a coffee stain on his shirt."

  
A small, breathless laugh escaped Grell. "I fell down one flight of stairs, and I got a broken wrist."

  
Will's lips curved upwards. "Indeed, Mr.Abberline has a unique gift."

  
The sound of a hard object being slammed repeatedly against metal resounded in the small room, the students quieting down. Grell leaned forward in his seat to see Mr. Abberline slamming a paperweight on his desk. "Quiet down please, quiet down and take your seats."  
  


* * *

At lunch that day, Grell met some of Darien's friends. Alan Humphries, a quiet rule follower, Eric Slingby, a rambunctious and jolly teen, and Ronald Knox, a flirt. Grell thought that they all seemed to be okay people, they even treated him like a human being, not like a germ.

  
Grell was starting to feel like he belonged with this group, but he also felt as if they were just being nice because they pitied him.

  
Alan and Eric were virtually inseparable. Eric was always there to help Alan, whether it be as comedic relief, or as his legs. Alan was confined to a wheelchair. Grell didn't know why, and he didn't know how bad it was, but he didn't want to ask. It wasn't his place to ask. The pair always seemed to have a smile on their faces though.

  
Ronald always seemed to be a bit goofy, talking about the last party he went to, how many shots he did, the amount of women's numbers he picked up. Sometimes though, in the lull of the conversation, Grell could see the dual-haired teen zone out, his eyes glazed over. He would snap out of it, when jostled by either Darien or Eric.

  
Alan and Eric muttered something quietly, then Eric laughed. A loud, joyful sound that resonated from his belly.

  
Eric looked up, mouth open to most likely relay the joke, but his face fell. "Grell! Behind-" he wasn't able to finish it though, and Grell felt a cold, sticky, thick substance hit his head, and trail down the back of his neck, down his shirt.

  
Grell, froze and he heard laughing. "Whoops," Sebastian smirked. "My pudding slipped out of my hand." He laughed and Grell heard him walk away.

  
Eric growled and began to stand, but Alan put a hand on Eric's arm. "Eric, you could go after him now and leave Grell feeling awful, or you could stay and help us."

  
Grumbling, Eric stood up and gathered the napkins from the group's trays, and walked over to Grell. He began to soak up and gather the pudding on Grell's neck. Alan walked over with a wet cloth, most likely from the cafeteria servers, Darien was searching through his bag for a fresh top for Grell, and Ronald went to the teacher on duty.

  
Alan handed Grell the wet cloth, and Eric gathered the used napkins and threw them out. Grell wiped his neck and tried to get the pudding out of his hair. When he cleaned himself as much as he could, he handed the cloth back to Alan, seeing it stained with brown.  Chocolate pudding , Grell thought.

  
"Thank you Alan," Grell murmured. Alan smiled, and wheeled away to return the cloth to the lunch ladies. Darien, with fresh shirt in hand, went to Grell, helped him up, and the two of them walked to the men's washroom.

  
"Here," Darien handed Grell a red shirt and a plastic bag. Change into this and put the dirty shirt in here." Grell thanked him and went into the washroom, only to see Sebastian again.

  
A cruel smiled played over his face, and he observed Grell as he walked out of the washroom. Darien rushed in when Sebastian came out.

  
"You okay? He didn't do anything else, did he?" Grell shook his head, stripped of his dirty blue shirt, and put on the red shirt quickly. He stuffed the blue shirt into the bag and tied it.

  
"I'll make sure you get the shirt back," Grell told Darien, but the silver haired teen shook his head.

  
"Nah, that's okay. Red really isn't my colour, but it's certainly yours." Grell blushed a bit a the comment, and so did Darien. "Uh, sorry. That was a bit weird."

  
Grell shook his head and smiled slightly. "No, it's fine. It's the nicest thing anyone has said to me for a while," he replied as he and Darien left the washroom.

  
Alan, Eric and Ronald waited for the two to come back from the washroom, and when Ronald saw Grell and Darien, he ran up in excitement.

  
"Guess what! Sebastian got an after school detention," he announced. Eric looked pleased, Alan was calm. Grell visibly relaxed, but a stray thought passed through his mind. What if this made him more of a target?

  
The bell rang, signaling lunch ending. The group scrambled to get their stuff, said hurried goodbyes, and went their separate ways. Grell had his worst subject next; math. He wearily trekked to the third floor and to his class.

  
In his classroom, he saw two familiar faces, William, and Sebastian. A twinge of fear passed through Grell at the sight of Sebastian, but it settled into him when Sebastian looked at him, a cold glare.

  
Shuffling to here William sat, he cleared his throat. "Is anyone sitting here?" William looked up and shook his head. "Thank you." Grell sat down beside William.

  
"Didn't you have a blue shirt on this morning?" William asked tentatively. "I could have sworn you did."

  
"I did, there was just," Grell paused as he considered his next words. "An accident." William nodded slowly, then looked at Grell's hair.

  
"Grell, what's in your hair?" He asked. Grell thrust both hands into his hair, and found clumps of hardened, sticky hair.

  
"Umm...pudding," he replied as he brought his hands down. Sebastian snickered lightly. William started to turn, but someone sitting on the opposite side of Grell caught his eye.

  
William blinked in surprise. "Darien? You have math this period?"

  
Grell's head whipped around to see the silver haired male, the black of his piercings standing out against his hair. "That I do," he answered.

  
Grell looked at the two of them. "How do you know each other..?" He trailed off.

  
A Cheshire Cat smile creeped it's way onto Darien's face. "Oh, we went to school together when we were kids. Met each other in daycare. Stayed pretty good friends." William nodded.

  
Grell looked down slightly. "That must be nice," he said softly. "I've never had any friends." At that, William and Darien looked at each other.

  
Darien slung his arm around Grell's shoulders. "Well, you do now! How about you come over to my place this weekend?" He inclined his head to William. "You can come too, Willy. Eric, Alan, and Ronald will be there as well."

William bristled at his nickname, but a small smile played across his face. "I believe that's a good idea."

** To Be Continued... **


	2. Two

When Grell got home after school, for the first time in many years, he had a lighter heart, but only marginally lighter.

 When he walked through his front door, no one asked him how his day was, no one gave him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, any sign of affection, or that they cared for him. He was used to it though, his parents thought something was wrong with him, his older sister didn't really care about her brother. His family also made it a point to never be home when he comes back from school. He kicked his shoes off, hung his coat up, and walked into the kitchen. He saw on the counter a sandwich on a plate beside a note. He picked up the note and read it.

 ‘Dear Grell, I hope that you had a good first day of school. I made you your favourite, roast beef and mustard on rye. I know that we've had some rough spots in the past, but I keep praying to our Lord that he will guide all of us, especially you. Our Lord will help cure you of whatever may ail you. Please say Grace before eating your sandwich. Mom.’

 Grell crumpled the paper up and threw it into the garbage. He looked at the sandwich, wanting to eat it, but not having the appetite to do so. He wrapped it up and put it in the fridge.

 He walked upstairs to his room, and threw his bag onto his bed. He had no homework, one of the nice things about transferring at the beginning of a semester. He brought the plastic bag with the pudding stained shirt out, unwrapped it and walked into the bathroom. He turned the sink water on hot, plugged the drain, added a few squirts of soap, and threw the shirt in it. After it had filled up enough, he turned the water off. He then turned the shower on, stripped, and got in. The warm water loosened up the dried pudding in his hair, but it still took three shampoos to get it fully out. Once he was certain he was pudding free, he turned off the shower, dried off, gathered his discarded clothes and walked into his room, towel wrapped around his waist. He threw his clothes and the towel into his laundry and put his pyjamas on.

 Grell dug out his phone, plugged his beat up headphones into it, and let the music drift him away from reality for a while.

 

* * *

 

A 10 year old Grell ran up to his mother and father, gleeful expression on his face. "Mama, Dada, I want you to meet someone!" He grabbed their hands and dragged them over to the sandpit, where a little boy was standing.

The three stopped in front of the boy, and Grell let go of his parents hands, only to grab one of the boy's. "This is Oscar," Grell smiled at his parents. "He's my boyfriend! And we're gonna get married one day. We're gonna have three kids, and he'll cook spaghetti for us every night!"

 His mother gasped and yanked her son away from the other boy, and she and Grell's father left, dragging the little red head away, crying and confused.

 That night, at home, Grell's mother cried and prayed, cried and prayed. Grell's father however, ranted and yelled, and took his anger out on Grell.

 The next day, he went to school with a scratch on his face, and whoever asked about got the answer ‘It was my cat’. But none of them saw the bruises underneath his shirt, the belt marks. None of them saw the broken look in Grell's yellow-green eyes.

 

* * *

 

He shot up in bed, tangled in his bedsheets and headphone cord. His music had stopped. Grell turned on his phone screen to check the time. 4 pm started back at him. He had slept for one and a half hours. Grell wiped his face, only to find his hands came away wet. He scrubbed at his face, then reached over and under his bed to grab a book.

 He flipped it open and started to search it for an empty page. When he found on, he grabbed the pen from his nightstand and started to write.

'What have I done to deserve this?

I've been myself, I've followed my heart.

Why am I trapped?

Every thought deemed wrong,

Every feeling deemed unclean

Why do I feel so right, so free

When I think those thoughts

And follow those feelings

Instead I’m trapped in a cage of what I should be'

 He finished his thought, put the pen in the book, and tucked it under his bed. As he did so though, a silver object fell out from between the pages. He picked it up in his other hand after he put the book away. He looked at it closely. A blade. His blade.

 Grell thumbed the blade, turning it over and over between his fingers. He continued to do so as he walked to the bathroom. In the bathroom, he shuffled over to the medicine chest, sorted through it with the hand not playing with the blade. He grasped a small, circular porcelain object and pulled it out. It was the soap dish he bought at a junk sale years ago. The once pearl colouring had greyed with age, but the shell designs were still just as beautiful as the day he bought it. He flipped the lid up, the hinge squeaking slightly in protest. Inside, the pearl colouring had managed to escape time, cream bright against the faded grey.

 Grell placed the silver blade into the soap dish, closed the lid, and put it back. He closed the chest and walked back into his room, where his phone lay on his bed, its screen flashing 'New Text'.

 Grell sat on his bed and checked his texts.

 -Hey Grell, it's Darien. You still up for coming over for the weekend?

 Grell typed back: -Yep. As long as it's okay.

 A message pinged back a minute later. -Dude, of course it's cool. Cya tmw

 Grell smiled slightly, turned off his phone, and lay on his bed. His eyes began  to feel heavy, and he closed them, quickly drifting off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Grell's alarm went off the next morning, he trudged into the bathroom to get the shirt. He fully expected it to still be soaking and dirty, but when he went in, it was completely clean, dry, and even folded. He shrugged, grabbed the shirt and started to get ready for school.

 Grell walked downstairs, in a short sleeved graphic tee and blue jeans. He decided to pull his long hair into a ponytail. When he entered the kitchen, his sister wasn't there, but rather sitting with their father in the living room. Grell cautiously approached. He saw that his mother wasn't on the couch.

 "Where's mom?" He asked worriedly.

 He father sniffed at him. "Like you would care. She's in the hospital, probably from you." His father sneered at him slightly. "We had to take her last night, but then, you would know that, if you had cared enough to come with."

 Grell felt anger begin to rise, but he said nothing as he turned away from his father and sister. Grell debated asking why she was in the hospital, but he didn’t want his father to be given any reason to attack him. He grabbed his uneaten sandwich from the night before and threw it into his bag. He also grabbed an apple and bit into it before he closed the fridge door. His father turned him around and shoved Grell up against the fridge doors, his arm under Grell's throat, pinning him up.

 "Listen kid," he spat in Grell's face. "We didn't ask for you, you were just an accident." His rancid breath hit Grell like a truck. He let Grell drop back onto the floor. Grell coughed and rubbed his neck. "Get outta here, get to school." He went back into the living room, Grell's sister staring in shock, but not saying anything. Grell threw his coat and shoes on, grabbed his bag and apple, and all but ran out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He made it to the bus stop on time, and when he was let onto the bus, he went to the back to sit with Darien again. Darien smiled at him slightly, but frowned at the faint discolouration on Grell's neck.

"What happened there?" Darien gestured towards the mark. Grell's hand shot up towards his neck. When he pulled away, the green from his father's shirt was on his fingers.

 "It's just dye from one of my shirts," Grell lied. "It got caught around my neck when I was looking in my closet." He rubbed the green off his neck. "See?"

 Darien eyed Grell suspiciously, but he didn't push Grell about it.

 The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, then Darien grabbed his phone and headphones out of his bag. He plugged the headphones into the audio jack, searched something on his phone, and offered Grell a headphone. "Want to listen to music?"

 Grell nodded, took the headphone and put it in his ear. Darien put his in his ear and started the music. "If there's anything you don't want to listen to, just tell me and I'll skip it."

 "Okay," Grell smiled slightly. An eerie, sad melody drifted through the headphones. A choir began to vocalize, string and other somber instruments in the background. Grell felt at peace, listening to the haunting song.

 "This is beautiful," Grell whispered, awe in his voice. Darien glanced at him through the corner of his eye, the look on Grell's face warmed him.

 The bus stopped in front of their school, and Darien stopped the music. Grell returned the headphone, and Darien thanked him.

 "Thank you Darien," Grell said. "That was the most beautiful music I've ever heard." Darien nodded and smiled slightly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Just before class, Grell went to the washroom. When he exited the stall, Sebastian was there. Grell looked down and tried to avoid him, but Sebastian grabbed his shoulder.

 "Hey little bitch," he turned Grell around and delivered a punch to his stomach. Grell fell to the ground, clutching his abdomen as he tried to catch his breath. "That's for your little friend getting me detention."

 Sebastian left, stepping on Grell's hair as he did so. He slammed the door when he left. Grell shakily stood, using the sink for support. He coughed over the sink, blood spattering into it. He turned on the tap, and quickly rinsed out the bowl. He rinsed his mouth next, until the water he spat out was no longer tainted with red. He stopped the water and tried to stand on his own. His legs shook slightly, but he could stand. Grell slowly made his way out of the bathroom and to his Fashion class.

 When Grell arrived in the classroom, he dreaded sitting down, knowing that using his abdomen muscles would protest against their use. Grell walked to his seat beside Darien, and slowly sat down, wincing slightly. A small, quiet whimper escaped his mouth, and Darien turned to Grell.

“You okay?” Concern evident in his voice.

 Grell grimaced. “Yeah, I just,” he paused, thinking of an excuse. “I just ate some bad fruit.” He fibbed. “It'll pass.”

Darien scowled at Grell. “I don't believe you,” he stated. “I don't think that you're in pain because of some 'bad fruit'.” He looked Grell in the eye. “What actually happened?” Darien's voice was cold, and held a threat behind it. Not a threat for Grell, but for whomever did this to Grell.

Grell flushed slightly. “It doesn't matter,” and he turned away from Darien's stare. “Really, it's fine.”

“I don't think it's fine Grell,” Darien continued to look at the red head. “I want to help you.”

 'But you can't help me, Grell thought helplessly. You can't help me change, that's the only way you could help me. Grell stayed silent, and eventually, Darien turned away from him, but Grell could feel his eyes on him from time to time.'

 Madame Red waltzed into class, still covered head to toe in red. “Class, today we will start learning about famous fashion lines, and how they became so successful.” She turned to the board and wrote 'Coco Chanel'. “Now,” she turned back to the class. “Who knows about this amazing woman?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At the end of English that day, when Grell was at his locker, he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around hesitantly, and was face-to-face with a blonde girl. Her hair was curled, her large blue eyes sparkled, and she was dressed in pink. Even her eye shadow was pink.

“Hi! We have Fashion together!" She started in a high pitched, slightly annoying voice. "My name's Elizabeth, but please, call me Lizzie!" She stuck her hand out to Grell. He took it tentatively.

"Nice to meet you," they shook hands. "I'm Grell."

She giggled. "I know that, silly! You sit beside Undertaker!" She gasped. "And today, how you answered every question about Coco Chanel correctly was just amazing!"

Grell smiled uncomfortably. 'Is this girl going to leave at some point?' He wondered. "Um, could you please maybe not call Darien 'Undertaker'?" She looked at him, confused.

"But everyone calls him that," she tried to reason. "What's wrong with calling him that?"

"He's not fond of the nickname," Grell replied, closing his locker and scrambling the lock.

She nodded, seemingly understanding him. "It's not a very cute nickname either." She sounded like a little child, upset that something wasn't adorable.

"Well, I've got to go so..." Grell trailed off as he gestured away from her.

"Okay!" She chirped. "I'll see you tomorrow!" And she skipped away.

'How is she so chipper and...pink?' Grell shook his head, and he made his way down to the cafeteria.

When he walked through the caf doors, he immediately heard Ronald.

"Hey Grell! We're over here," called Ronald over the noise of others in the room. Grell turned his head towards the voice, and saw Ronald, his orange and black hair stood out against the white of the caf walls. Grell started to weave his way over to the table.

Eric and Alan were, of course, sitting together. When Grell approached, Eric turned to look at Grell. "Sorry I wasn't able to warn ya yesterday." He pushed his blond hair back with one hand, while he ran his other hand over the black cornrows on the side of his head. "I coulda stopped it before it happened, but," he sighed. "I'm sorry."

Grell's eyes widened. "No, no, it's okay. Really, it's okay Eric." He smiled. "It wouldn't have changed the outcome."

Alan looked up at the two and smiled, pushing the brown hair out of his glasses. "It's nice to see you smile," he said to Grell. "You have a really nice smile."

A faint dust of pink appeared on Grell's cheeks, but it faded just as quickly as it had appeared. He sat down across from Alan.

Someone cleared their throat and Grell looked up, seeing William standing there. "May I sit here?" He gestured to the spot beside Grell, where Grell's black bag was laying.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Grell moved his bag to under the table, and hooked one strap around his leg, so he wouldn't forget it, and so that he would know if someone tried to take it.

"Thank you," Will sat down. With his crisp pants, clean white shirt, black tie, and his slicked back brown hair, he was a drastic difference compared to Grell, who looked as if he didn't care about clothes.

William pushed his black rimmed glasses up, and placed a brown paper bag on the table. Meticulously, he started to unpack it. First, a Granny Smith apple, cut up and in a square container. Following it, a container of carrots, ranch dip, a container of Wurst, and finally, a small white box. Grell was unsure as to what was in it. As he watched William organize his lunch on the table, he realized that he was hungry.

Reaching under the table and into his bag, he blindly searched for the sandwich he packed. When he felt the smooth plastic of the cling wrap, he grasped and pulled out the sandwich. It was slightly squashed, the mustard staining the edges of the rye bread. Grell unwrapped the sandwich on the table, took half of the sandwich and bit into it. He was chewing, but didn't taste anything.

William was cutting into his Wurst when Darien came over and sat on the opposite side of Grell, between him and Ronald.

"Willy! You decided to come down and sit with us today?" Darien placed his tray down on the table and sat down, smoothing the trench coat he was wearing underneath him.

"Our meeting was canceled today," William replied coolly, putting a piece of the German sausage into his mouth.

"Meeting?" Grell asked Darien. Darien nodded.

"Will's part of the Chess Club," Darien explained. "He's on the way to becoming a Grandmaster."

"Oh, honestly," William put his fork down. "I just enjoy chess, I'm nowhere near Grandmaster capabilities."

Darien leaned over and whispered to Grell. "For as long as I have known him, he's never lost a game."

Grell made a little noise. "Impressive."

The sound of a box being opened drew Grell's attention to Will again, and he saw the white box from earlier being opened, and a beautiful pastry was within it. Layers of flaky, white pastry was combined with custard and had white and light chocolate drizzled on top.

William took it out, cut a piece and placed it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then took out his notebook and pen, jotted something down, then put the book and pencil away. Will put the fork down and closed up the box, putting it to the side.

"Was there something wrong with it?" Grell asked tentatively. "That pastry?"

Will wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Yes, I made the custard too sweet, and the chocolate was too bitter."

Grell gaped at him. "You made that? It looked so professionally done!"

Ronald leaned so that Grell could see him around Darien. "That's because Will's training to be a baker!"

** To Be Continued... **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to update soon!


	3. Three

"Ronald, don't talk with your mouth full,” William said, bored. “It’s a bit rude, and disgusting.”

Ronald muttered a quiet sorry, then continued to chew quietly, mildly embarrassed.

“I-I can’t believe that you would be training to be a baker! I thought,” Grell paused realizing that what he was going to say was going to be mildly rude. “I thought you were going to take over a large company or something like that…” He trailed off.

William regarded Grell cooly. “I was.” Grell’s eyes widened. “I realized that there is a passion in baking that I have never experienced in any of the business meetings I’ve ever attended. Unfortunately, my mother and father believe that I am ‘wasting’ my talents to pursue baking instead of business.”

Grell sighed. “It must be nice,” he started. “To know what you want to do, and to be able to stand up for it.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Grell?” Alan asked gently, a smile on his face, green eyes sparkling. 

‘I want to be accepted by my family,’ Grell thought. He almost said it too, but changed it quickly. “I want to be a writer,” he answered. Everyone nodded, except for Darien. he was the only one who had seen hesitation in Grell’s eyes, but he chose to not ask.

“It’s a good career,” Eric nodded. “I think ya’d do great.” The others agreed with Eric.

Ronald spoke up, without food in him mouth this time. “I think, that if you really want it, you should go for it, with all your might.” 

Grell nodded. “Thank you, Ronnie. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

‘Or, at least I’ll try to.’ Grell continued to eat, finishing his sandwich, but instead of it helping, all it did was make him feel sick.

He crumpled up the cling wrap, and tucked it into his pants pocket. He also pulled out his phone to check the time. It was nearly twelve, which meant classes would have to start soon. Grell grabbed his bag, put his phone back in his pocket, and stepped over the bench.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Grell began to walk away, but was stopped by a voice.

“I’ll come with you, Grell.” Said Alan, as he wheeled himself away from the table. “Come with me, we’ll go up in the elevator.”

Grell was mildly shocked that it was only Alan who came over. Eric didn’t follow, instead he stayed seated.

“Uh, okay, sure.” Grell held the door open for Alan so that he could wheel through, then followed him.

The two travelled in silence, Alan’s wheelchair occasionally squeaking. As they approached a door, Grell ran to open it for Alan, and he kept fidgeting as if Alan was glass and would break from a wrong glance.

When they reached the elevator, Grell was practically hopping from foot-to-foot, he was so nervous. When the two entered the elevator, Alan sighed, and looked at Grell.

“Grell, I’m not delicate, so please stop acting like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces at any moment.” Alan said softly and calmly. “I’m sick, not broken.”

Grell flushed in embarrassment. “I’m...really sorry,” he stammered. “I don’t mean to act like this.”

Alan smiled at him. “It’s completely fine,” he paused. “I’m guessing you want to know what has me confined to a wheelchair.”

Grell didn’t look at him. Alan chuckled slightly. “It’s okay; humans are naturally curious. I'm surprised that you lasted this long.”   

Alan smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I have cancer, Grell. Leukemia.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened, allowing the two to exit.

Grell was floored. Alan didn’t look like someone who was going through cancer, it just looked like he was confined to a wheelchair, not that his body was slowly killing him from the inside out. “I-I really don’t know what to say,” Grell stammered. “How are you doing?”

Alan shrugged as he wheeled himself down the hall alongside Grell. “You know, good and bad days. The good days are when I only have a nosebleed. The bad, well,” he paused. “Well, let’s just say you’d be able to tell if I’m having a bad day.”

Grell nodded in understanding. "So..." He started awkwardly. "You and Eric seem to be good friends."

Alan smiled wistfully, then looked at Grell through the corner of his eyes. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Alan stopped, and turned so that he could look Grell in the eye. "What are your views-" he was cut off by the bell. "Shoot," he muttered. "Can I ask you about this later?”

Grell nodded hesitantly. “S-sure? I guess.” Alan nodded.

“Right, I’ll see you later then,” and he wheeled away from Alan, off to his class.

Grell shrugged, and turned around to get to his Math class, but a small part of him kept wondering what it was Alan was going to ask.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Grell walked into his Math class with time to spare. He sat between Darien and William again, this time, he was ready for his teacher.

The day before, when their teacher came into class, Grell was thoroughly confused, and leaned over to ask Darien about it.

He had asked Darien why Mr. Abberline was teaching Math and English. Darien glanced at him, and shook his head, a smile on his face. Darien had explained that the English teacher Mr. Abberline 

was Edward, and that the Math teacher was his twin, Fred. He also noted that Edward Abberline sported a mustache, whereas Fred Abberline was always clean shaven.

Darien poked Grell, drawing him out of his daze. "Is it cool with your parents if you come over?" Darien asked. "You know, for the weekend?"

Grell's eyes widened slightly. He had forgotten, not only to ask, but the fact that it was Friday. "Umm, I'm sure it'll be fine," he shrugged. "They don't really care about what I do." 

He knew he was lying slightly. They did care who he hung out with. If he was hanging out with girls, they'd be suspicious, if he was hanging out with guys, they'd be suspicious. Grell was in a no-win situation. “So, what do I bring?”

“You know, the usual stuff that you take overnight,” Darien answered quickly. Grell nodded as if he understood, but he was hiding his confusion. What DID one take overnight?

A cough was heard, and the sound of someone spitting. Grell felt a soggy, solid wad of something hit the back of his head. He didn’t want to touch it, but her turned around slowly, to see Sebastian, sitting back in his chair, looking nonchalant, with a dissected pen on his desk, and crumpled paper beside it. ‘A spitball,’ Grell thought. ‘How creative.’ Sebastian smirked at him, and Grell looked away.

“Do you have a tissue I could use?” He asked Will quietly. William glanced at him through the corner of his eye.

“I do.” He began to search through his bag. “Why do you need it?”

“I-” Grell was cut off by someone clearing their throat. Mr. Abberline stood at the front of the class, papers in hand.

“Please settle down, class will start soon,” he stated as William gave Grell the tissue. Grell immediately threw the tissue on the back of his head where he felt the spitball. He gathered as much of it as he could, crumpling the tissue into a ball around his hair and the spitball. He pulled it out, and walked over to the garbage, threw it out, and sat back in his seat.

“Thank you,” he said to Will, who nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Grell didn’t go home right away after his Math class. He had a spare last period, and decided to walk around, and become more comfortable with the school’s layout. He walked from the third floor down to the basement, and worked his way back up.

When he reached the second floor, he was amazed by the art adorning the walls. Brooks was mainly an academic school, but the art program they had was amazing. Grell saw the products of the art program up on the walls of every hall he passed through.

“Grell? Why aren’t you in class?” A female spoke, snapping Grell out of his daze. It was Pink Girl- Lizzie. “Are you skipping?” She gasped as she walked down the hall towards him.

“I’m not skipping,” he replied when she reached him. “I just don’t have a class this period.” He looked at her. “Are you skipping?”

She giggled as they walked. “Of course not, I just went to run an errand for my teacher.”

Grell yawned, and Lizzie stopped, watching him. “Grell, are you by any chance a singer?”

He regarded her warily, fully expecting some sort of cruel joke that was really quite uninventive to follow it. “I’m not really,” he answered. She said nothing, and just regarded him thoughtfully. “Why do you ask?”

That question broke Lizzie out of her thoughts and she smiled. “I have an idea!” She grabbed Grell’s hand with her own. “Come with me,” and she dragged a very uncomfortable and worried Grell down the hall and around the corner. They reached a classroom door, which Lizzie promptly threw open and ran through, still pulling Grell.

Inside was a small class of about 15 people, a mixture of female and male teens, all of whom were sitting on chairs with music stands in front of them, papers Grell could only assume were music, spread out on the stands.

The teacher was at the front of the room, standing behind a beautiful piano. He wasn't old, but there were creases on his face, and his hair was grey. He held himself with pride, but he didn't seem pompous, and there was a warm feeling around him, like he would listen to everything you had to say after a rough day and tell you that everything would work out.

"Lizzie, who is this?" The man asked kindly.

She drew Grell to the front of the classroom. "This," she let go of his hand and stepped away from him slightly. "This is Grell. We have fashion together, Mr. Tanaka."

"I see," Mr. Tanaka observed Grell. "Is he missing a class right now?"

Grell shook his head. "I have a spare right now."

Lizzie leaned over to Mr. Tanaka and whispered something. He nodded and stood back up. "Are you willing to sit in for this class, Grell?" Mr. Tanaka asked.

"Well," Grell felt uncomfortable. "Is it okay? With you sir?"

He chuckled slightly. "Of course it's alright! You may just decide to join this class."

Lizzie walked over to a wall where the chairs were stacked, took one down and brought it over to an empty seat with a stand, presumably her seat.

She gestured to Grell to come over and sit with her. When he sat down, Mr. Tanaka picked up his baton.

"Now," he raised the baton, "let's continue warming up." He played a few notes on the piano, and the class hummed around Grell. "Let's hit the high notes, shall we?” He took a deep breath. “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ahhh."

The class copied his staccato, each time gradually going higher and higher with the piano, voices dropping out if they couldn't hit the notes. Their mouths were all open the same way, loose, but with enough tension to create the needed sound. They were all sitting the same way, a straight back, on the edge of their seats, feet flat on the groud. They continued this exercise, until only one person was left singing: Lizzie.

Her voice hit a very high note, but to Grell’s surprise, her voice didn’t squeak. It stayed strong, and reminded him of an opera singer. It was a full, round sound. Finally, the piano hit a note that she couldn't, and she dropped out, the class clapping around her.

"Well done Lizzie," Mr. Tanaka applauded. "Let's try the low notes, shall we?” He took a deep breath and vocalized. “Za-zah-zah-zah." It was a slow, deep sound.

Again, the class copied him, most of the girls dropping out fairly early. All of the males left singing had very melodious voices, like warm honey. The last person singing was the black haired boy that was with Sebastian. Grell saw that, behind his glasses, was a pair of golden eyes. The class applauded again.

"Excellent, Claude." Grell glanced at him.

'I don't think he recognizes me,' Grell sighed in relief. But Claude looked at him, realization in his eyes, and Grell felt shivers run down his spine.

Lizzie prodded Grell. "Well?"

He looked at her warily. "Well what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you sing? Mr. Tanaka asked if you sing."

Grell flushed as red as his hair in embarrassment. He looked at the teacher. "Sorry I didn't answer Mr. Tanaka, but," Grell swallowed. "But I don't think that I’m a good singer."

"Let's try something then," he replied as he played a note on the piano. "Try to match your voice to this note."

Grell flustered a bit. "But, but, I'm not really a musical person, I won't be able to hit that note! I can't!"

Mr. Tanaka smiled. "Just try, you may surprise yourself." He played the note again and took a deep breath. "Ahhhhhhh," he hit the same pitch of the note and motioned for Grell to do the same.

Grell took a shaking breath, focused on a point over Mr. Tanaka's head, opened his mouth, mimicking what Mr. Tanaka did, and vocalized, filling the room with a full, rounded sound.

Clapping erupted in the room. "Well done, Grell. I believe you are more musical than you are telling us," Mr. Tanaka smiled, "or that you are letting yourself believe."

Grell looked at Mr. Tanaka, confused. “I couldn’t have been able to hit that note, I haven’t sung since,” Grell thought about it. “Since I was seven!”

“So,” Mr. Tanaka regarded the red head over his glasses. “You have had experience singing.”

Grell stammered. “Uh, I guess, if singing in my church choir counts?” Mr. Tanaka nodded.

“Grell, how would you like to join this class?” Mr. Tanaka gestured slightly to every person in the room. “I’m sure that I’m not the only one who believes that your voice would add something to our choir and class.” The rest of the class nodded and murmured in agreement, including Claude. That surprised Grell. Why would he want Grell to join? Unless...

  
“Well? Will you join?”

** To Be Continued... **


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me just say how sorry I am that it's taken me this long to post another chapter. A combination or writer's block, finals, and busy summer have cause this to fall to the side, and I am sorry for that. Again, I will try to update when I can, if writer's block, school, and my schedule work out a bit better.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, I will be putting this story up on Wattpad, and it's likely that updates may hit Wattpad before AO3. If you want to find me on Wattpad, I'm still CatInTheIvy.

* * *

 

_The pews were packed with people. Some were forced to stand, they couldn't get seats. Three figures stood out to Grell. His father, tall, slightly balding, holding a video camera and grimacing slightly. Grimacing at the fact he was dragged out to see his son perform. Beside him, a pretty woman, she shared Grell's hair colour. His mother. She smiled, and wiggled her fingers at her son in a greeting. Grell smiled back, knowing that if he waved, he would be scolded. Finally, beside his mother, his sister. A sullen, bored look on her face. Arms crossed, she slouched in the pew, looking everywhere but Grell._

_  
The minister stood before Grell and the other singers, motioning them to stand. He turned around to the crowd and announced that they were singing The Hallelujah Chorus, and that the soloist was Grell Sutcliffe. He turned back around to the children. Grell was brimming with excitement, certain that his parents would be happy that he was soloing._

_  
As the children began the first few notes, everyone in the church that could stand was standing, some mouthing along, others hummed. Soon, the church was filled with the angelic sound of the choir. It was an all boys choir, and they ranged from ages seven to twelve, which meant that they wouldn’t have hit puberty, and their voices wouldn’t crack, or drop._

_  
Grell’s solo was coming up, so he walked towards the microphone at the front of the stage. Grell took a deep breath, and the conductor cued him to sing._

_  
“And he shall reign forever and ever,” Grell’s slightly higher, clearer voice rang out, echoing throughout the church. He looked over at his parents, but never expected what he saw._

_  
“Forever and ever,” his father was looking towards Grell’s mother. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah,” his open hand was raised._

_  
The music reached a crescendo. “King of kings,” the hand came down, and Grell saw his mother jolt back from the strike._

_  
“And Lord of-MOMMY!” Grell stopped singing, as did the rest of the choir. The children were confused, the conductor infuriated, and the audience was aghast, but laughing at Grell’s slip. The little boy ran off stage, and to his mother._

_  
He never sung at church again._

 

* * *

 

Grell got home later that day, his heart pounding, and excitement filled him. He didn’t even remember walking through the door and taking his stuff off, he was just already in his room, reading over the slip of paper he had gotten from Mr. Tanaka. It was a permission form to join the vocal class. Not only did it happen every day last period, but once a week, normally Wednesdays, they would meet after school for a few hours for extra practicing.

  
"I can't believe this," Grell spoke softly. "I'm going to sing again." He read over the paper again, but his heart sunk when he saw the words 'Parent/Guardian Signature'. He knew his father would never sign it. His mother...his mother might. She wasn't back from the hospital yet though.

  
"Maybe I could visit her," he muttered. "See what happened, and when she'll be home."

  
Grell folded the paper, and put it in his jeans back pocket. He sorted through his bag and pulled out a bus ticket. It was crumpled, but still usable. He knew how to get down to the hospital, after all, there was only one; Brooks General.

  
He made his way back downstairs, and was surprised to see that his sister and father weren't home yet. Usually, his sister was home, and his father would come in a few minutes after Grell. He shrugged, thinking nothing of it. Grell put on and tied up his sneakers, and grabbed his coat, locking the door as he left.

 

* * *

 

Grell hated hospitals. He hated the off-white walls, the sterile smell, and the staff. They were either too chipper, or they were very rude, and abrupt.

  
He approached a nurse sitting at reception. Heavier built, she seemed kind, but he could smell her fake lavender perfume. "Excuse me," he leaned on the desk. "I was wondering where Lucy Sutcliffe is roomed?"

  
She looked at him. "What is your relation to her?” She asked in a nasally tone that irritated Grell.

  
"I'm her son." Grell was confused. He had always called himself her son, but somehow it felt fake. Like he was lying. He shook it off. Of course he was her son.

  
"Right this way please," the nurse stood and walked towards a door, Grell trailing behind her. When they reached room 211, she stopped. "Mrs. Sutcliffe is in here."

  
"Thank you," he opened the door and entered, it closing behind him as he approached his mother. An IV was attached to her, as well as a multitude of other machines. She was sitting and reading a book. Grell assumed that it was the Bible.

  
He cleared his throat, and she put the book down. "Grell, how nice to see you." She spoke plainly, as she always did, but her eyes hid a tired look. Creases and line Grell had ever seen before seemed etched into her face, as if she had suddenly and dramatically aged.

  
Grell walked towards her bed as he played with the paper in his hand, folding it and unfolding it. He took a deep breath, and sat in the chair next to the bed. His mother turned towards him.

  
"What are you fiddling with?" She gestured to his moving hands.

  
"It's a permission form. For school." He held the paper out to her, which she took very gently. She unfolded it and scanned the form, no expression visible on her face.

  
"Is this something you want to do?" She glanced at Grell. "This class?"

  
"Yes," he responded. "Very much."

  
A small smile crept onto her face, lessening some of the wrinkles that were evident on her face. But it disappeared quickly, leaving him with the stone faced mother he had grown up with. "I'll just sign this then." She leaned over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. She reached in and pulled out a pen, and using the Bible as a hard surface, she signed the form.

  
"Here you go." She gave the form back to Grell. He shoved it into his pocket.

  
"Thank you," he breathed as he stood. Her arm snaked out and grabbed his hand before he could take one step.

  
"Please," she pleaded. "Please stay a little while." Grell regarded her with confusion, and wariness. This wasn't her normal behaviour, and he knew that. It made him very uncomfortable. However, he sat back down in the chair.

  
“Is something wrong?” Grell scanned her face, trying to see if there were any facial signs he had missed, any clues as to why she wanted him to stay. Every time she had been sick at home she would just brush him off, telling him to leave her alone because he’ll “infect her with his uncleanliness”.

  
“Nothi-well,” she broke off. “I know that I haven’t been the best mother. And I just wanted to tell you,” she paused, “I’m sorry, and I always pray for you to find the right path.”

  
Grell scoffed. “You’re sorry? And yet you still act like this?” He shot up from the chair and flung her arm off of his. “Like I’m just a piece of trash? Apologizing for something you’ve always done, and then doing it again? Oh, yeah. I see how sorry you are.”

  
Grell stormed out of her room, and back down the hall he came from. That was the first time in many years he had dared talk back to his mother. He was wondering what would happen when she got home, how he would be punished. It wasn’t until he made it to the cafeteria that he finally stopped. He weaved around the people crowding in the large room, until he found a small café. Grell stepped into line, and looked at the drink options.

  
“May I take your order?” The woman behind the counter nodded at Grell as he stepped forward.

  
“Yeah, um, can I get a small hot chocolate?” The woman tapped a few keys on the register.

  
“Would you like to add marshmallows and whipped cream for an extra 50 cents?”

  
Grell glanced at the register display the price of his drink. The extra 50 cents would make his total come to three dollars. “Um, yeah, sure. Why not?”

  
He rooted through his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five. “Here you go.” The woman handed back two ones.

  
“Your drink will be ready soon,” the woman gestured to the right of the bar. “If you would wait over there?”

  
Grell pocketed his change and moved to where his hot chocolate would be. A few minutes later, it arrived. “Careful,” the barista placed the drink on the counter. “It’s hot.”

   
'Really? My hot chocolate is hot? Who would’ve guessed?' Grell smiled slightly and nodded, taking the hot chocolate as he tried to refrain from his inner sarcasm.

   
He made his way through the crowd again, and he found an empty table, mostly away from others. He sat down with his drink and stared at it, until someone clearing their throat made him look up. Eric was standing beside his table, a cal look on his face. “Is this seat taken?”

   
“Uh-um,” Grell stuttered. “No, no, go ahead.” Eric sat down in the chair across from Grell. He pushed his tinted blue glasses up, even though they already rested on the bridge of his nose. He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head.

   
“So, what brings you here?” Eric looked over his glasses at Grell. “You seem to be in good health, but I can’t say the same about your hot chocolate.” A teasing lilt dusted his voice, allowing Grell to hear a bit of his Scottish accent.

   
“Oh,” Grell took a quick sip of his hot chocolate, the whipped cream and marshmallows long since melted. “My mother was admitted, and I needed her to sign something.”

   
“Your mum? That sucks, I hope she gets better soon, and that it’s nothing bad.” A confused look passed over Eric’s face. “Wait, if your mum’s here, why couldn’t you ask your dad to sign it? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

   
Grell’s face turned cold, and his body stiffened, his hands gripped the cup tightly. “Let’s just say...we’ve never been on good terms.”

   
Shame passed over Eric’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I think I can relate though.”

   
Grell glanced up. “Oh?”

   
“Yeah,” Eric scoffed. “My folks and I don’t see eye-to-eye, and they often belittle me for my want to become a doctor. They say I’m smart enough to be a farmer like the rest of them, and that’s it.” He shrugged. “I don’t let it get me down though, I ignore them, and really, all it does is motivate me even more.”

   
Grell nodded in understanding. 'You mostly understand my position, that’s a first.' “So, why are you here?”

   
“I’m waiting for Alan to be done chemo. He asked me to wait in the caf so that we can grab a bite before we leave.”

   
“How is Alan doing, in terms of his cancer?” Grell asked tentatively, seriously hoping he didn’t cross any borders or boundaries.

   
Eric smiled, and leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table. “Actually, he’s doing really well. The docs believe that he should be able to beat it, the cancer. Pretty soon, he should be able to start standing and walking a bit on his own, and he’ll be gaining back strength.” He chuckled. “Alan is so stubborn, and he is such a fighter, it amazes me.”

   
Grell took another sip from his hot chocolate, although he found it to be more like a tepid drink. “It’s good that he’s doing so well. I hope he gets better soon.”

   
“Yeah,” Eric nodded. “Even though he’s sick, he still works so hard. It would be so completely unfair if he couldn’t do what he wanted because he’s too sick.”

   
“What does Alan want to do?” Grell asked, realizing that this was the first time he had actually asked about other’s future plans.

   
“Alan wants to become an artist. Hah, actually, he’s already an artist.” Eric sighed, and he rubbed his face. “But, there’s an art internship and scholarship that he wants to do. It’s two years, all expenses paid. The only thing is, it’s overseas, and Alan is too-” Eric broke off to try and find a word. “-unprepared. He’s too unprepared to travel overseas for two years while he’s still sick.”

   
The sound of squeaking wheels grabbed their attention and they saw Alan rolling towards them. Eric jumped up to help Alan, and he pushed him towards the table.

   
“Honestly, Eric. I could have pushed myself,” Alan chided Eric softly, but he sounded weary. “I’m not weak, I’m just sick.”

   
“Yes, I know that, but chemo always takes a number out you, and I wasn’t doing anything.”

   
Alan looked at Grell, then turned to scowl at Eric as he sat down. “You were chatting with Grell, that’s doing something. Something important I bet.” Eric flushed in embarrassment.

   
Grell laughed lightly. Alan turned to face him in surprise. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

   
“Oh, sorry.” Grell looked ashamed, and he fiddled with his empty cup. “I didn’t mean to laugh, it’s just...you two remind me of an old married couple. A happy old married couple.”

   
Alan chuckled. “Don't be sorry. We get that a lot. I guess that’s what happens when you are close to someone for a long time.”

   
Grell looked between the two. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you known each other?”

   
Alan looked at Eric, and Eric smiled, giving Alan a little nod. “Well, we’re about 18, and have been friends for about six, and we’ve been dating for three.”

   
Grell’s face froze. He blinked a couple times. Then, he looked at Eric and Alan. “Ah-yo-wha-um.” He stumbled over his words. “Wait, you two are a couple?”

   
Eric nodded. “Yup. Going on four years soon.”

   
Grell looked around. “And...you’re not worried someone heard you say you’ve been dating a man?”

   
Alan shrugged. “They don’t matter. If they have an issue with who we love, then that’s their issue, not ours.”

   
“Are there others at Brooks High like...well, you?”

  
Eric laughed. “Others? Of course there’s others. There’s a whole club of us.”

* * *

 

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: abuse

Grell stood in front of the door. It was a regular, average, door, but it filled him with a sense of uneasiness. Behind the door was the classroom where Brooks High hosted a diversity club, a Gay Straight Alliance. Alan had been encouraging him to come by for a meeting at the hospital, and Grell had been excited, but now that he was actually trying to go through with it, he was nervous.

 

What if they laugh? Will they make fun of me? Am I expected to return, even if I hate it? A whirlwind of thoughts attacked him, each one making him feel sicker and sicker. A finger tapped his shoulder, and he jumped, turning around. Eric was standing behind him, with Alan beside him.

 

"Y'okay? Ya look like ya saw a ghost." Eric asked tentatively. 

 

Grell shook his head. "M'okay, just," he sighed. "I don't know if I can do this."

 

Alan smiled. "Of course you can. Just think of this a a class, except it's not mandatory to come back if you don't like it."  


 

"But classes are different than clubs. I've never been in a club, so I don't know how to act, or react." Grell rubbed the back of his neck.

 

"Ah, you'll do fine." Eric opened the door. "Go on in, they don't bite."

 

Alan wheeled himself in, and Grell followed suite, with Eric behind them, closing the door when he entered.

 

The first person that stood out to him was Darien. He was in the centre of the room, sitting on a desk, with a gaggle of people scattered in front of him, laughing and talking. The sound of the door closing grabbed his attention, and he looked up at the new arrivals.

 

"Grell! Good to see you," he stood up and walked over to the red head, giving him a hug. Grell tensed up, and Darien let him go. "Hey, you feeling okay? Feeling better after the weekend?"

 

After Grell got home from the hospital, he decided to start packing for the stay at Darien's. He opened the front door, and saw muddied work boots with the other shoes. His father was home, and he was either watching TV, or sleeping off his alcohol. Grell closed the door quietly, and slipped his shoes off while he hung up his jacket. Shuffling into the kitchen, he made his way up the stairs, being careful to not to draw any attention to his presence. It didn't work though.

 

Grell smiled. "Yeah, I had a sore throat, but I drank some medicine and I'm better now."

 

Grell was slammed up against the wall, his father's hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing. A heavy smell of beer hung like a cloud over him. "Where 'ere you? You 'ernt scrooin' 'ound 'ith a girl, 'ere ya?" His words slurring, and his eyes narrowed. "Or a boy? You 'ernt fucking a fag 'ere ya?" His grip tightened.

 

Grell shook his head. His head throbbed, and spots danced across his vision. "No...hospital...mother....went to....see." He gasped out. His father snorted and dropped his hand, letting go of Grell's neck. He muttered something about Grell being a mistake, then turned around. The drunkard stumbled away from Grell, using the walls as support to move into his room, slamming the door.

 

Darien nodded at Grell's shirt. "Turtleneck. Though I was the only one who wore them," he teased slightly.

 

"Oh, yeah. I own a couple." Grell's hand lightly ran over his covered neck.

 

He looked in the mirror. Already he could see the marks and bruising of his father's hand. He coughed, wincing at the pain felt in his throat, a searing, burning pain. Turning the tap on to cold water, he rooted around for a hand towel and threw it into the sink. He turned the water on high and let it run for a few minutes. When he turned the water off, the towel was floating in a pool of ice water. He grabbed it, the water draining down the sink, and he squeezed out some water from the towel. He wrapped it around his neck, sighing slightly at the cooling sensation. He walked into his room, legs trembling slightly. Sitting on his bed, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and opened up Darien's contact.

 

-Hey Darien. Sorry, I don't think I can make it this weekend :/

 

A few seconds later, he got a response.

 

-That sucks. What happened?

 

Grell stared at the screen for a few minutes, trying to think of a reasonable excuse.

 

-My throat hurts, it's pretty bad. Sorry.

 

-nah it's cool. Just get well soon :)

 

Grell walked over to the gaggle of people and sat down near them. Alan wheeled over next to him, and Eric stood next to Alan. Grell looked at the faces of the students in the room, and his eyes rested on a familiar golden eyed, black haired individual. Claude. He seemed very uninterested in Grell, and he was talking with the blonde in booty shorts.

 

"Alright everyone! Let's settle down and introduce ourselves because we have a new member." Darien stood at the front of the room, and everyone quieted down. "Alright, I'll go first. My name is Darien, and I'm pansexual."

 

Grell swiftly brought out a pencil and piece of paper from his backpack, and he wrote down 'pansexual', making a mental note to look up any he didn't know.

 

"I'll go next!" The blonde in booty shorts shot up. "I'm Alois, and I'm also pansexual!" He sat back down and elbowed Claude.

 

Claude pushed his glasses up his face. "My name is Claude Faustus, and I am demisexual." He sat back down, and looked at Alois like he was saying 'there, happy'. Grell put down demisexual.

 

The next person to stand was a person dressed in a white dress, with a white hat of sorts on their head, but it came down to cover their left eye. The had a very feminine face, like a porcelain doll. "Hello. Mine's a little more confusing. Um, I'm two spirited, so sometimes I'll look like this and I'll be female, and other times I will be male. Today, my name is Doll. Other times I'll be Freckles. More often than not, you'll be able to tell who I am based on how I'm dressed, but for those rare times I'm not dressed to match, just listen to my voice. I speak differently. So, yeah. My name is Doll and I'm two spirited." She sat back down, a small smile on her face.

 

"Well, don't know how I can follow that up, but my name's Bard, and um. Wow, this is awkward." Light laughter elicited from the group. "Well, um, I'm bisexual, but I'm also a Sub. So, uh, kinks. Yep." He sat down and ran his hands through his hair.

 

A small, blonde haired boy with blue eyes stood. He clipped his bangs back from his face using two pins, and cleared his throat. "Um, my name's Finny." He had a soft, slightly high pitched voice. "And I'm, uh, I'm a Dom." He blushed slightly, and sat down, before shooting up again. "Oh, I forgot! I'm also gay." He plopped back down in his seat.

 

'Dom and Sub...that sounds familiar.' Grell made a note to look them up later.

 

A girl with large glasses and magenta coloured hair stood up, and as she did so, a black haired girl rose with her. "I'm Mey Rin, and this is Ran Mao," she gestured to the black haired girl. "We're both gay, and we are in a relationship together. Ran Mao doesn't speak much, but she is a masochist." Ran Mao reached out and grappled Mey Rin's hand as they sat down, and Mey Rin looked at her lovingly.

 

'Masochist...?'

 

"All right,' Eric stood up. "You already know Alan and I, so not much explaining to do there. We're gay." Everyone laughed at the frankness Eric displayed, and he sat down beside Alan.

 

Grell glanced around, and he stood up, realizing it was his turn. "Uhm," he cleared his throat. "My name's Grell. And uh, I don't really know what I am." He braced for someone to laugh, but no one did. They regarded him with an air of understanding.

 

"Don't worry, Grell." Doll spoke up. "Most of us were exactly the same as you when we first joined. We were confused and scared because we were different, but you'll see just as we did that you are a-okay the way you are, no matter what you might be." She smiled at him, and Grell was filled with a sense of relief as he sat back down.

 

"Now then-" Darien began to speak, but was cut off by the door flying open. Everyone turned to look, and they saw a very disheveled Ronald rush in, followed by William, whose hair was messed up a little.

 

"Sorry, tha- we're late," Ronald gasped out. "Mr. Roger forced me to run extra laps after gym, and while doing so I crashed into Will."

 

Grell's eyes trailed over to Will, and his breath hitched in his throat. Will's hair was ruffled slightly, his glasses a little off kilter. His shirt, slightly rumpled, and showing his collarbone. He was breathing with his mouth open slightly, almost as if he had run, but it wasn't exerting. He moved as if he was calculating where to sit, and finally, sat beside Grell, with Ronald sitting on his other side. 

 

'What? What am I thinking?' Grell was flustered. 'I really can't be crushing on him, can I? Ah, that's ridiculous.'

 

William glanced over at Grell, and he smiled slightly. 'Oh wow,' Grell looked away quickly, and tipped his head forward, hiding his light blush with his hair. 'Why am I getting flustered?'

 

Everyone erupted into conversation, and Grell looked up, his blush faded. He glanced around a little, and saw Claude staring at him. 'Oh god. Is he gonna tell Sebastian?'

 

Claude looked at Alois, and said something to which Alois glanced at Grell, and nodded. Grell stiffened up as Claude made his way over. He crouched in front of Grell. 

 

"I won't tell anyone about you being part of this club. Neither will Alois. We understand how Sebastian is-" he paused to find the words. "A dick. Honestly he can be a dick. Most of the time he is. We've tried to fix him but, unfortunately as you have experienced first hand, it hasn't worked yet. We understand how you feel, coming out to a club like this for the first time takes guts, and we respect your decision." 

 

Grell stared at him, eyes wide in amazement. "Uh, wow, um. Thank you. That's really kind of you-"

 

"No," Claude cut Grell off. "It's not so much kindness as the right thing. We know what you're going through, and you don't need any more shit from anyone when you are trying to figure out stuff." He stood up, nodded, and walked back to sit with Alois.

 

The bell rang, causing everyone to quickly right the room, say their goodbyes, and leave. Grell, Will, and Darien all left together, matching their way across the hall to their math class.

 

When they entered, the class, Sebastian wasn't in his seat, which Grell found odd, considering that he passed by the teen when he got off the bus. But then again, it was an odd day, especially since Darien wasn't on the bus, or in Fashion.

 

They sat in their seats, and that's when Grell decided to ask.

 

"Darien, where were you this morning?" 

 

He looked at Grell. "Didn't I tell you?"

 

Grell's brow furrowed. "Tell me what...?" He trailed off.

 

"Ahh, must of slipped my mind. I was needed to help prepare a body." Undertaker seemed very solemn. "You know Ciel?"

 

Grell vaguely recalled him, remembering his second interaction with Sebastian, and the boy that stood up for him. Sort of.

 

"Yeah, is he okay?"

 

Darien shook his head. "Both his parents were killed. Car crash."

 

Grell was floored. "Oh my god! That's terrible."

 

"Yeah. Poor kid. That's why I wasn't here this morning. That's also why Sebastian isn't here right now, he's with Ciel."

 

The bell rang again, and the two quietened as the rest of the class trickled in. A somber silence fell over Grell and Darien.

 

 

* * *

 

At home, Grell was sitting on his bed, completing his homework. The math they were working on was review, fractions and such. English still didn't have much, just reading a book to begin their first project. He threw his pen into his notebook and closed it, tossing it on to his bed. He laid down onto his back, and rolled onto his side, curling up in fetal position. His mind kept wandering back to earlier in the day, when he learned about how Ciel's parents had died.

 

"It really doesn't take much, huh?" He muttered to himself. "Here one moment, gone the next. They were literally ripped away from him. I wonder..." He rolled on to his back, stretching his legs out and laying his arms over his stomach. 

 

'Maybe I should visit her more often,' he thought. 'She wouldn't do the same for me, but it's a common courtesy, right?' He shook his head. 'No. snap out of it Grell. You don't need to see her because you feel sorry for her. Just leave her alone, that's all she would do to you.'

 

He sat up, and looked at the clock. 'Hmm...it's four thirty. Visiting hours end at seven. If I leave now, I could make it for five thirty.' He pondered. 'No, just stay here and work.' He grabbed his notebook and began to complete the math assignments.

 

 

* * *

 

**To Be Continued...**

 

 


End file.
